


I Know About Mandrakes. Mandrakes Are Cool.

by WolfieOnAO3



Series: The Brewer's Dictionary of Short Stories [6]
Category: Good Omens (Radio), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 13th century arabic manuscripts, Comedy, Dialogue Heavy, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen, Humor, M/M, Mandrakes, medicinal plants, the history of plants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23638243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfieOnAO3/pseuds/WolfieOnAO3
Summary: The manuscript was beautiful. Truly beautiful. And fascinating. Illuminated with careful technical illustrations, Ibn al-Baitar had documented some 1,400 individual plants within his masterwork, the research for which had taken him from Spain to North Africa, from Barca, and Tripoli, and Antalya and all the way to Constantinople. Not to mention being replete with references to early botanico-medicinal researchers from the Arabian and Greco-Roman worlds. For the student of botanical history, this was little less than a holy grail. And the price had reflected it. ...These were the days before Wikipedia. When Aziraphale fell down unexpected rabbit-holes of niche research, things quickly got expensive.For the Brewer's Prompt: The Devil's Candle
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The Brewer's Dictionary of Short Stories [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691002
Comments: 16
Kudos: 44





	I Know About Mandrakes. Mandrakes Are Cool.

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Je m’y connais en Mandragores. Elles sont cool.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24318925) by [Likia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Likia/pseuds/Likia)



> _The Devil's Candle_  
>  _So the Arabs call the Mandrake from its shining appearance at night._  
>  \- Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable

Aziraphale had been sitting at his desk for the past fifteen hours. He had only left his seat twice in that time, once to make a cup of cocoa, and once more to replace that cup of cocoa after he had forgotten to drink it.

The reason for this was that he had managed to get his hands on a genuine 13th century manuscript of _Kitāb al-Jāmiʿ li-Mufradāt al-Adwiya wa-l-Aghdhiya_ by the renowned Andalusian-Muslim botanist and medico, Ibn Baitar. The book was a pharmacopoeia, remarkably rare, and prohibitively expensive to the point of being virtually unpurchasable. The angel had needed to resort to some _under the counter_ dealers, as he put it, in order to finally get his hands on a copy. It was, he reasoned, all for the greater good of course. For where else could possibly be safer than an angel’s bookshop? Obtaining it was practically a public service.

The manuscript was beautiful. Truly beautiful. And _fascinating_. Illuminated with careful technical illustrations, Ibn al-Baitar had documented some 1,400 individual plants within his masterwork, the research for which had taken him from Spain to North Africa, from Barca, and Tripoli, and Antalya and all the way to Constantinopl, not to mention being replete with references to early botanico-medicinal researchers from the Arabian and Greco-Roman worlds. For the student of botanical history, this was little less than a holy grail; and the price had reflected it.

But the genre was, Aziraphale had to admit, somewhat outside of his usual purview. His interests, though varied and wide-ranging, tended towards the mystical and the literary over the medical and the scientific. But, of course, when one really gets down to it, the lines between the medicinal and the magical begin to blur. One might start reading up on the Vulgate translation of Genesis, and before knowing what had happened find oneself thoroughly ensconced in the superstitious history of the mandrake root.

These were the days before Wikipedia. 

When Aziraphale fell down unexpected rabbit-holes of niche research, things quickly got _expensive_. 

One cannot, he would reason, have too many books, after all.

And so here Aziraphale was, in his bookshop, pouring over a 13th century manuscript on the pharmacological properties of plants, in medieval Arabic. 

The bell above the bookshop door jingled.

‘We’re closed!’ Aziraphale called out, not bothering to mask the irritation in his voice. He had a _sign_ , for goodness sake, could people not _read_? And hadn’t he locked the door?

Ah.

‘Hello, Crowley…’

The demon poked his head around the side of a bookshelf. ‘All right, Aziraphale? You still have your Closed sign up, you know.’

Without waiting for an invitation, Crowley flopped down into the armchair adjacent to the angel’s desk, hooking one leg over the arm, and pushing his sunglasses up on top of his head.

‘Yes, I am aware, dear boy. I left it up for the perhaps difficult to understand reason that the bookshop is, in fact, _closed_.’

‘Are you ever _open_ , angel?’

Aziraphale laughed in spite of himself. ‘Occasionally,’ he conceded. ‘I’m just a bit busy, at the moment, and I don’t want any would-be customers coming in and disturbing me. New manuscript, you see,’ he added, gesturing to work before him. ‘Or, rather, a very old one.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ Crowley said, hauling himself into a more upright position and peering over at the desk. ‘Anything interesting?’

‘I should say so!’ the angel replied with some enthusiasm. ‘And I rather think you would find it interesting, too. Come and take a look at this- _carefully_ , please! I’m embarrassed to admit how much I paid for this, but suffice it to say that it is _irreplaceable_ ….’

Aziraphale then embarked with barely muted excitement upon a potted history of his newly acquired historical plant compendium.

‘Ibn al-Baitar, did you say?’ Crowley asked as he leaned, _carefully_ , over the angel’s shoulder to take a closer look at the illustrations. ‘Name rings a bell... Anyway, what made you buy this, angel? Not that I’m criticising your choice, personally I think this is way more interesting than all of those bloody misprinted bibles you like so much - well, aside from the really weird ones. I like those ones. Er, but what I mean is that plants aren’t exactly your usual, you know, _metier._ Actually, come to mention it, what happened to that cactus I gave you? I haven't seen it in--’ 

‘I killed it.’

‘A _cactus_? How did you--’

‘I don’t know, it just died!’

‘You’re hopeless!’

‘I did tell you that when you gave it to me, Crowley.’

‘Well, yeah, but--’ the demon shook his head. ‘That’s not the point. The point _is_ , what’s with the sudden interest in horticulture?’

‘It isn’t horticulture that I’m interested in. It’s history. And superstition. And etymology, in this particular case.’

Crowley sighed. ‘Of course it is. For once it would be nice if you were just interested in things for their _own_ sake...’

‘But it is _awfully_ interesting, dear boy. At present I am researching mandrakes, specifically, but I am sure that the more I read of this manuscript, the more it will open up all manner of new avenues for study. These things do tend to _spiral_.’

‘Mm, so I’ve heard…’ Crowley dragged the other desk chair up next to the angel, spun it around, and straddled it. Throwing his arms over the backrest he continued to - _carefully -_ flip through the angel’s book. ‘I know about mandrakes,’ he said idly. ‘Mandrakes are cool.’

‘They certainly have a rich folkloric history.’

‘Mm. Good for when you can’t sleep, too. _And_ a bit of an hallucinogenic, if you take it properly. Good fun, but hell of a hangover if you bugger up the dose.’

‘Crowley!’

‘What?’

‘Mandrake contains an extremely dangerous alkaloid poison!’

The demon grinned. ‘Yeah, like I said, _hell_ of a hangover.’

‘You are incorrigible.’

‘So, what then? Does this book have some particular and unique _Mandrake Facts_ in it that you can’t get anywhere else? Or did you just want an excuse to buy something pretty?’

‘Unlike _some_ people, my dear, I am not in the habit of buying things simply because they are aesthetically attractive. And as a matter of fact, it _does_ contain very unique information. Or, rather, I think it does. My medieval Arabic is a touch _rusty_ … I’m having a devil of a time finding what I’m looking for.’

‘What are you looking for?’

‘I _believe_ that this manuscript contains the first recorded reference to the mandrake being called _T_ _he Devil’s Candle_. I am trying to trace the history of various traditions associated with the mandrake, you see. Whilst a great deal of the superstitions can be traced back with some certainty to practical and mundane origins, the “Devil’s Candle” remains, ironically, quite in the dark. The record of the mandrake having some form of bioluminescence is quite unique to Arabian legend. It’s fascinating. ...Why are you laughing?’

‘Sorry, sorry,’ Crowley replied, trying to sober up. ‘It’s just-- You spent that much money on this, just to find _that_ out, angel?’

‘Well, that, and it’s also rather pretty...’

‘You know, you could have just asked me, if that’s all you wanted the book for,’ Crowley said once his second burst of laughter at the angel's self-deprecating snark had died down. 

‘What do you mean?' The angel leaned forward in his seat. 'Do you know anything about this?’ 

‘Mmhm. I knew that name rang a bell. The candle thing brought it back to me.’

‘Go on then! Good Lord, Crowley, I’ve been researching this for weeks! You might have said something!'

‘You didn't ask! Not my fault you didn't! You know I’m really into plants. It’s like if I wanted to know something about, I don’t know, Oscar Wilde, that instead of picking up the phone and--’

‘Crowley!’

‘All right, all right, keep your wings on, angel.’ He hesitated. ‘Er… Do you want a story that won't annoy you, or the true one?’

‘...The true one. Obviously.’

‘Obviously. Right. Well, er, then, well, the true story is: I did it.’

‘What?’ Aziraphale frowned. ‘What are you talking about? What does that mean, you “did it”? Did what?’

‘The er, the “glow in the dark” thing. The “Devil’s Candle”. I did it. That’s why it isn’t in, er, common tradition. Only set it up a couple of times, and Ibn al-Baitar was, uh, well, he was in the area, I guess, and wrote it down.’

‘ _Why?’_

‘I think that the Sultan Al-Kamil had hired him to--’

‘No, no, no, _why_ did you… You made the mandrake leaves glow in the dark? Why on-- What could possibly have been the point? _Why_?’

Crowley shrugged. ‘Dunno. For a laugh.’

‘ _A_ _laugh?_ ’

‘Yeah. Thought it would be funny.’ Crowley snickered. ‘It was pretty funny.’

Aziraphale leaned back in his chair and ran his hand through his hair with exasperation. He shot a sidelong glance at the demon and shook his head.

‘What? What? It was funny! Everyone was really freaked out. All these weird, glowing plants in the darkness. No one had any idea what was going on. It was great.’

‘And I suppose you supplied the name, too?’

‘No, that’s the best bit! They landed on that for themselves! So that little joke made its way into legend, did it? That’s brilliant. That makes it even funnier. Generations of people, completely confused. You’ve made my day, angel! I’d forgotten all about that.’

‘Crowley?’

‘Yeah?’

‘You are a _bizarre_ creature.’

The demon slid his sunglasses back down onto his nose and shot the angel a twisted grin. ‘That’s why you love me.’

Aziraphale sighed. ‘Lunch?’

‘Thought you’d never ask, angel.’


End file.
